


Panic

by riptxdes (fukmylyf)



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anyways, Declan Lynch Needs a Hug, Gen, POV Declan Lynch, Panic Attacks, fuck niall lynch, yes im projecting but you can't tell me that declan isn't fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fukmylyf/pseuds/riptxdes
Summary: Declan Lynch has a panic attack, Matthew helps.
Relationships: Declan Lynch & Matthew Lynch
Comments: 15
Kudos: 26





	Panic

Declan hated this. It didn't happen often, but enough to be frustrating. He had things to do today, goddamnit, he needed to get groceries, he had an essay draft due in the next week that he still needed to finish, Matthew had asked him to read over one of his assignments before he turned it in, and that was just the start of it. But he was lying in bed, because his chest was tight, his heart was hammering, and his hands were shaking. He wanted to try to get up, but he knew from experience (from falling, hard, and trying desperately to convince Matthew that he was fine as he just curled up on the ground and tried to stop shaking all over) that maybe that wasn't the best idea. 

Shit. He hadn't gotten his meds refilled either. He thought he'd gotten over this, that he was well past being trapped in his bed with a too fast heart and an aching chest and now his stomach was twisting and oh no-

He threw himself out of bed, and regretted it immediately, falling backwards to sitting on his bed, one hand clamped over his mouth. He swallowed, hard, tasting bile, felt sweat bead on his forehead and his eyes prick with tears. Ugh. Slowly this time, then, he raised himself on shaky legs and stumbled over to his desk, dropping into his seat and picking up his little plastic waste basket, balancing it on his thighs and dropping his face into it. Ok. Crisis averted. He wasn't sure he would throw up, but he always planned for the worst, and he had no reason to believe that he _wouldn't_. His chest _hurt_ , but he tried not to think about it. His stomach twisted, and he tried not to think about it. He could calm himself down. He'd done it before, surely he could do it again. 

Deep breath in. Hold, 1, 2, 3-

Downstairs, something shattered against the floor, followed by a shouted cuss, and Declan gasped, and his heart felt like it was trying to break out of his chest, and his head hurt, and he couldn't take it, he couldn't do this, he couldn't. Why was everything so fucking _loud?_ He tried to suck air into his chest, his shaky fingers gripping the bin so hard his knuckles went white, the rim digging into the palms of his hands painfully. A whine squeezed its way out of his chest against his will, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his face hot. He wasn't sure if it was shame or pain or the inability to breathe that was getting to him, but he felt pathetic. He was so pathetic. He hated himself for it, and he hated Niall for it, but he could hear his dad now, berating him for showing his true face, for admitting that he might, maybe, not be ok, that keeping as many life threatening secrets as he did for as long as he had might've been weighing on him. 

Someone knocked on his door, a soft rap, three taps, and Declan winced. 

"Hey Dec, where'd you stick the dustpan, I dropped a glass," Matthew asked, and God, Declan loved his brother but he was _loud_ and Declan couldn't handle it, a choked sob forcing its way out of his throat. 

"It's in," he started, running out of breath immediately, before he pulled himself together, just a little, just enough. Deep breath. "Under the stairs."

He heard shuffling outside the door, and hoped that Matthew had left, resting his forehead on the rim of the bin. His heart was still hammering away in his chest, and his stomach twisted again as he thought of Matthew catching him like this. God he was _pathetic_. 

He didn't register the sound of the doorknob turning until it was too late, and Matthew had peeked around the corner to ask if he was ok. He jumped a little at the sound, which wrenched another _pathetic_ sound out of his mouth, and the fist he stuffed into his mouth to bury it did little to help. Matthew was next to him in a second, though, hands hovering over his shoulders, and Declan pointedly avoided making eye contact. He was a terrible older brother. Matthew didn't need to deal with this. He was supposed to handle this, he could handle this, he handled everything, he'd _been_ handling everything since as long as he could remember.

"Go away," he murmured, and he knew he sounded pathetic, and he knew Matthew wouldn't leave, and he hated himself so deeply for it. He was a failure, he failed his brothers every day, and he was failing them again right now. 

"Not happening," Matthew responded, kneeling next to his older brother and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Where are your anxiety meds?"

Declan shook his head. "Ran out."

"Ok." Matthew gently pried the bin out of his hands, and placed it on the floor, then squeezed Declan's shoulder. "We're going to breathe through this, ok?"

Declan groaned, burying his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. "No, Matthew, I'll be-" another choked whine "-fine." He lowered his hands, and Matthew caught his eye, giving him a gentle smile. 

"Sure, Dec," Matthew squeezed his shoulder again. "I'm going to sit here until you're ok, though."

Declan closed his eyes, trying to focus on the gentle pressure of Matthew kneading his shoulder, trying to time his breathing to it. Breathe in, 2, 3, 4, and hold, 2, 3, 4 and out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Repeat. 

Matthew didn't say anything else, humming to himself, a song Declan knew, but couldn't place. He didn't mind the distraction, and could feel his body finally, finally relax, just a little, as his heart slowed down in his chest, and his stomach finally stopped twisting, and the tremor in his hands faded to barely noticeable. Breathe in, hold, and out. 

He opened his eyes. "Thanks," he pushed out, shooting his brother a smile he hoped didn't seem too forced. He still felt like shit, his headache taking center front on the list of problems he was dealing with, but that was about normal for now, he figured, rubbing at his temple. Matthew was still kneeling next to him, watching him with thinly masked concern. "I'm fine, Matty."

Matthew nodded, squeezed Declan's shoulder one more time, and stood up, going to leave but pausing at the door, drumming his fingers against it. "You know you could just… ask for help, right? You've helped me out with this plenty," he said, finally. Declan sighed. 

"I can take care of myself, Matthew," he responded, picking his words carefully. He knew he couldn't just say he didn't want the help, that he couldn't accept it, because Matthew was just as stubborn as Ronan was (just as stubborn as he was, too, so maybe it ran in the family). 

"Doesn't mean you have to." Well. He couldn't argue with that. He shrugged, then got up, slowy, making sure first of all that he could hold himself up. His legs had stopped shaking, thankfully, and he made his way over to Matthew, pulling the door open and ushering his brother out. Matthew rolled his eyes at his non response, but complied, heading down the stairs towards the kitchen again. Declan followed, fingers tapping on the banister as he went. He wasn't sure he'd get any work done today, and he definitely wasn't leaving to get groceries now. Matthew would be more than happy to get pizza, anyways. He'd be fine, probably. The voice in the back of his mind, the one that sounded exactly like his dad, told him otherwise, but he elected to ignore it. 

Just in case, though, he made a mental note to get his anxiety meds refilled. 

**Author's Note:**

> god help i can't tell what the difference between canon declan and the version of him i've projected on in my brain is anymore


End file.
